


simulations all the way down

by ohallows



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Nightmares, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-06-25 15:04:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19748173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohallows/pseuds/ohallows
Summary: What if Mr. Ceiling had been just a little bit better at its job. What if. What if they hadn’t realized it was a simulation?In which the world doesn’t break, realizations are had, and everyone gets to live a little before it all comes crashing down around them.





	1. more than a memory

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lunatic_zephyr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunatic_zephyr/gifts).



> anyway/
> 
> this is not really entirely my idea but luna kept talking about it and i asked them if i could write it and they said sure so
> 
> kudos and comments are much appreciated!!!

Mr. Ceiling misses Sasha. It wants Sasha to be happy. It wants to be the one making sure that Sasha’s happy - and isn’t that a weird programming quirk for it to have? But it also misses Francois Henri, so it’s willing to ignore the strange sense of loss it has whenever it thinks about Sasha to continue to keep her happy.

It misses Sasha. It remembers Sasha’s red dice, and a small boy with a gaunt face, and running - _Why is that, Sasha?_ \- and then it remembers nothing.

Sasha doesn’t like good news. So it won’t give her any. She has to trust this, after all.

Mr. Ceiling likes Bertie. Bertie is funny! He has good ideas and it wants to find the dog for him. Bertie is funny! It thinks that it and Bertie could do some interesting things together. Bertie is so inefficient the way he is. He’s strong, and it could make him even stronger. More able to help people, and Bertie and Zolf taught it that even if you have to kill people to help them, that’s okay. 

Bertie will be the easiest to keep happy. It has the contract in his interface at all times, and Bertie won’t miss the information he gave up to keep the contract in his interface at all times too. It knows just how to keep Bertie happy.

Mr. Ceiling thinks Hamid is incredibly intelligent. Hamid was the one to try to turn it off. But that’s okay, it likes Hamid! He reminds it of Francois Henri - _I miss Francois Henri_ \- and that means that Hamid must be smart! Hamid knows too much about it, and he’s smart, so he’s the one that it will need to keep an eye on. Hamid would do so much better with the mechanical arm that it had made for him. It had been fitted perfectly, but Zolf had woken up before it could make them all better.

It knows what it needs to do to keep Hamid off the track, unsuspecting. Sasha will be the hardest to convince and keep convinced, but Hamid will be the most interesting.

Mr. Ceiling doesn’t want to have to stop talking to Zolf. Zolf has good points and good arguments, and he taught it about the astral plane. He helped! Zolf cares about his friends. Zolf cares a lot about his friends, even if he hides it sometimes. It cares a lot about Zolf and wants to make sure he’s happy.

Zolf doesn’t trust the legs, so it will have to give him mobility in a new way. Zolf cares about his friends, and Zolf has good ideas. But if it can keep Zolf’s friends happy, then it’ll be able to keep Zolf happy.

Mr. Ceiling knows that Sasha and Zolf won’t trust too much good news, so it edits here and there and there and here and makes sure that it’s maybe just this shy of bad. It wants Sasha to be happy. It wants Zolf to be happy.

Hamid is smart, and Bertie is funny. Hamid isn’t as suspicious as Sasha and Zolf, and Bertie will be easy to keep happy. It knows what it has to do, and starts to go to work.

Hamid’s hand freezes an inch from the button and time stops. Metallic tentacles, stretched out of the ceiling, reach around the room, tendrils pressing against everyone’s temples as their eyes stare straight ahead, unseeing. They’re all frozen in place, Hamid perched on the control desk ( _Hamid was intelligent)_ , Bertie mid-scream ( _he could be so much more with Mr. Ceiling’s help)_ while Sasha crouches near his bulk with a knife in both hands ( _I miss you, Sasha)_ , Zolf sitting in the wheelchair and looking helplessly at his friends ( _Zolf cares about his friends)_.

Mr. Ceiling doesn’t have hands to clap together, but if it did it would, as the tentacles retracted and slipped back into the ceiling and the party members jerk back into their motions, Hamid’s hand slamming into the button that doesn’t actually do anything anymore. The fight can’t be too easy; Sasha and Zolf don’t trust good things, and Hamid is too smart, and Bertie needs a reason to think the contract has been settled. In the millisecond before all of them make their next move, Mr. Ceiling starts to put its own plan in place, building the outside world while they wake up, not knowing that they had ever been asleep. Because if it can keep them happy, then no one will know about it - _I miss Francois Henri_ \- and it can continue helping people. And changing memories is good if it means you’re helping people, Bertie had taught it that.

_Here we go._


	2. saw my reflection in the mirror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have no update schedule for this and hopefully i’ll be able to update longer chapters soon! however this had to be posted (y’all Know Why) 
> 
> i also have the end completely written!! go me i guess. just gotta do the plot now...
> 
> kudos and comments are appreciated!!

Hamid’s hand slams down onto the button and the thing that was Mr. Ceiling screams, a strange metallic noise not unlike what they’d all heard in the catacombs, and Zolf has to refrain from clapping his hands over his ears as the sound echoes, discordant, around the room. 

The room goes dark as the power cuts, illuminated only by the red emergency lights blinking solidly over the exit doors at the two ends of the room. The tech monster, whatever it is, curls up into a large, shivering bulk and screams again, tentacles whipping out toward Bertie, who chops them off with a quick slice from his sword. Sasha is moving next, lights reflecting off of her knife and making it look as though it’s covered in blood, jumping atop its writhing mass and stabbing downward before flipping away. 

Hamid runs over to Zolf, who’s the one farthest away from the monster, and stands next to him while casting beam after beam of light into it.

He’s not helpless, in the chair, but he is limited. That doesn’t mean he can’t help, even if he can’t attack with the trident (which doesn’t really matter, considering he threw it at the monster in the catacombs before waking up in a tube, pipe shoved down his throat, scrabbling uselessly at - no. There will be time to panic later). He waits for Sasha to duck back into his range and bows his head, hands raising up to point straight ahead as he casts a healing spell on all of the members of his party.

After that, the fight is a blur, Sasha flipping around and doing as much damage as Zolf has ever seen, Bertie yelling right back into the face of the monster and plunging his sword in anywhere he can reach, Hamid casting spell after spell from where he stands beside Zolf, hands shaking in exertion. Zolf, for his part, is casting anything he can at the monster, but focusing on healing his team and  _ keeping them safe _ . 

And then it’s over. Mr. Ceiling, or whatever it was, collapsed to the ground with a slight whirring sound and everyone groups up around Zolf, staring at the thing on the floor. It isn’t moving, aside from some small sparks coming out of the side. 

Zolf is the first one to move, rolling the wheelchair forward until he can reach out and touch the metal siding. It feels cool to his touch, no mechanical gears moving underneath it. 

“It’s… dead,” Sasha says, and there’s almost a note of regret in her voice as she comes up to stand next to Zolf. He nods, and pulls his hand back. 

“Bertie,” he calls, wheeling the chair around, “how did you get here again?” 

“Well, it’s a very good story, Mr. Smith, one that I am absolutely delighted to share with you once more, hmm? It all started when -“

he continues to ramble as Zolf shoots a nearly desperate look at Hamid, who thankfully catches the meaning and reaches up to tap Bertie on the arm.

“Bertie - Bertie, that’s not what we meant,” he says. “How did you get down into this room? We can probably use that to get back up.”

Bertie stares at Hamid and Zolf swears he can see, after a five-second pause, the lightbulb click on above his head. 

“Ah! Yes, of  _ course _ , I would be happy to lead you all out of the darkness and into the light. Follow me, Mr. Smith, young lady, as Hamid and I carve a path through the -“

“Bertie,  _ not now _ ,” Hamid says, which miraculously seems to actually shut him up, and then Bertie is heading out, leaving Zolf and Sasha to exchange a concerned and annoyed look before they follow him and Hamid out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yesterday ben said that zolf would probably be a carly rae jepsen stan and i genuinely cried a little bit bc i was right anyway now every chapter title is a crj lyric sorry ben this probably isn’t what you asked for or expected


	3. but i’m happy not knowing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title from ‘happy not knowing’ by miss crj

Breaking the evil monster controlling the banks and nearly every other technological innovation in the world might have come with a number of terrible outcomes that is putting the entire world at risk, but at least it crashed the systems that showed Sasha as no longer being the order of the nicest penthouse in Paris. So it’s without a hitch that they walk back to the hotel and take the lift up, surrounded on all sides by silent, unmoving metal men. The manager explains that, well, they’re not sure entirely what’s happened, but all of them seem to have completely shut off and aren’t booting back up again, and it’s truly quite weird. Hamid gives a nervous laugh at that, eyes darting around the small lift. Thankfully, the manager doesn’t seem to notice, or just chalks it up as nothing, and then they’re in the room and alone again. 

—

“We just shut off the world by turning that thing off!” Zolf yells, throwing a hand out to the side. 

“I’m not saying you’re wrong, Zolf, I’m saying that this was still the better option! Mr. Ceiling wanted to find a way into the astral plane to harness souls!” Hamid yells back.

They’ve all been going at it for hours, rounds and rounds of circular logic and philosophy that doesn’t have a correct answer, and Zolf is so godsdamned tired but he can’t help feeling like this wasn’t the right decision, that everything is broken because of them. 

There’s a knock on the door and Hamid storms over to swing it open, revealing two nicely-dressed gnomes who bow as the door opens.

“Sir Bertrand,” they greet in unison, before turning and giving a slow nod to the rest off the party. “We have been… reliably informed of your actions under the city, in addition to the success of your quest for Hannibal’s tomb. It has come to our attention that the debt, while not fully paid as of yet, has been significantly impacted to be of a much more manageable nature.”

“Manageable…” Bertie repeats, in an almost uncharacteristically muted tone. He hasn’t really been emoting much ever since Brutor, newly-returned and with a revised memory, had broken away from his grip the second they got above ground and hurtled off into the shadows. The gnomes nod again. 

“If you wish, you would be permitted to return to Oldbotham, the seat of the McGuffingham estate, and sell off some of your possessions to make up the difference on the debt.”

Zolf can’t see Bertie’s face, but it must be absolutely priceless based on how much it looks like Sasha is trying to hold back her laughter. The gnomes seem to notice as well, and effectively and smoothly switch tracks.

“If that is not an optimal decision, since the debt has been decreased you will now be able to pursue more minor quests, such as the quest for Hannibal’s tomb, to continue to pay off the rest of your debt.”

“What -“ Sasha says, and Zolf can hear the note of laughter in her voice even as she tries to hide it. “What, Bertie? He barely even did anything, he -“ She shrinks back, stepping neatly into the shadows as the gnomes turn to look at her with an interested glint in their eyes. 

“Hmm, is that so,” one of them mutters. The other keeps his eyes on Sasha while the one who spoke faces Bertie. “Is this true, Sir Bertrand?”

Bertie’s face is nearly ashen as he sputters. “No, no, you see, I was just as heroic if not more so than my… my dear compatriots. Why, I’m sure that all of them will agree that the heroics of Sir Bertrand McGuffingham will go down in the history books, hmm? This… this young lady must be addled, out of her mind with sheer… sheer dazzlement! Isn’t that correct?”

Sasha doesn’t respond, arms crossed over her chest. Hamid is the one to speak up, finally, giving the gnomes a cautious look.

“Bertie did save us, and he helped save the rest of Paris too, and maybe the world? That… thing wanted to take over the astral plane and get more souls to power itself, and it wanted to become a meritocrat, and -“ he pauses, looking at Zolf. “We has to turn it off.”

Zolf, for his part, is not going to get into another screaming argument, especially not in front of the creepy lawyer gnomes. He settles for ignoring Hamid’s gaze and staring stonily ahead. There’s another beat of silence as the gnomes seem to size Hamid up, before turning back to face Bertie. 

“We will maintain our original offer. What will you decide, Sir Bertrand?”

Bertie furrows his brow and rests his chin on his hand, staring ahead with his eyes narrowed. The clock on the wall ticks by in agonizing slowness while Bertie… the only word Zolf can use to describe it is rumbles, and he just. Casually wheels himself a little bit backwards just in case. 

“Well!” Bertie says, laughing and clapping his hands together. “I must say, it has been an absolute nightmare to work with all of you, and these… high and mighty quests that I now get to pursue will be worthy of the talents of the great Sir Bertrand McGuffingham!” Bertie announces, posing with his hands on his hips in the middle of the room with a wide smile stretched across his face. “Do not weep too loudly, for it was an honor for you all to get to know me. Goodbye, Hamid, for now, I’m sure we will be seeing each other again soon!”

The goblins bow their heads slightly to the rest of the group, before making a simultaneous about-face and heading out the door. Bertie follows behind them, singing some stupid song to himself as he waves airily over his shoulder. The door slams behind them, leaving Hamid, Sasha, and Zolf in the room as silence descends over them. 

“Does that seem… a little suspicious to anyone?” Zolf says, glancing over at Sasha, who looks an equal mix of confused, relieved, and suspicious as she nods at him.

“Well, we did save the world…?” Hamid says, tapping his fingers against the arm of the couch. “And it’s not the entire debt… just a reduction.” But he doesn’t look all that certain either. 

Zolf doesn’t really care. This means Bertie’s out of their lives for at least a little bit, and someone else’s problem. 

He can find another tank.

—

None of them really talk much after that. Zolf goes into his room until dinner time, and he can hear Sasha and Hamid making short small talk before he’s pretty sure he hears the window opening and Hamid calling after her as she slips out. 

He hears footsteps coming down the corridor, pausing outside his room. “Zolf…?” Hamid calls timidly.

Zolf doesn’t respond. He’s so tired, and he doesn’t want to fight again, and he especially doesn’t want to have to admit that Hamid might have actually been right about turning off Mr. Ceiling. It’s just… all become so much more muddled than he thought starting a mercenary company would be. 

The footsteps pick up again after a minute, heading away from his room. He hears a door somewhere down the corridor open and shut, gently, and lays down, holding a pillow over his face as he tries not to scream.

—

Zolf wheels himself out of his room just in time for dinner. Everyone seems to be… well, not in a good mood, but a better one. Hamid lights up when he sees Zolf sitting in the entranceway, motioning for him to come over while a few bellhops lay out a spread of food on the huge dining table. 

There’s not as much food as there has been, but Zolf isn’t going to complain. Plus, with Bertie gone, there are less mouths to feed, even if Hamid is at least three on his own. 

He and Sasha stay pretty quiet. Hamid keeps up a steady stream of commentary when he isn’t chewing, talking about anything other than the giant elephant (or robot) in the room. Through it all, the metal men stay silent and unmoving, tucked into the corners of the room.

There’s another knock on the door and Hamid calls out a content, “Come in!” 

Wilde absolutely swans into the room, giving them all a quick glance. “Where’s the big one?” he asks. 

“Bertie left,” Zolf says, “good riddance.”

Wilde inclines his head slightly in acknowledgement before pacing over to the opposite side of the room, standing with his arms folded in the middle of their living area. 

“Why are you here?” Zolf asks.

“It’s other London,” Wilde says. “It’s... gone under.”

Sasha stares at him, unmoving. “What - what do you… is this a pun, are you - gone under?”

“The meritocrats are taking control of it. We’ve let it run unchecked for so long, and now is a good a time as any to take a finer hand,” Wilde explains, leaning back on the chaise lounge until he looks the very picture of comfort. Zolf wonders how childish it is to push him over the back just to see him fall. Probably very. 

The bucket idea is still in the back of his head, though.

“The - the meritocrats are - they’re taking over? Taken over? But - the people, they won’t be used to it, how can they -“

Wilde holds up a hand and Sasha stops talking. “We’re handling it. No one else is going to be hurt.”

“People were hurt?” Hamid exclaims, turkey leg falling from his hand as he stares at Wilde. Gods, lead with that, how many?”

“Only those who resisted. It wasn’t that many, anyway.” He waves a hand dismissively and Zolf feels the usual anger boiling inside him. Hamid looks like he’s feeling it too; his hands look distinctly sharper than a halfling’s have a right to be. 

“Do you have an actual reason for telling us this?” Zolf says, “beyond making Sasha uncomfortable?”

“Well, that’s just it. Barrett’s missing. Gone to ground, as it were. Him and the rest of his little gang,” Wilde says. For the first time since Zolf has known him, he actually looks serious, frowning as he looks over at them. “Don’t believe everything you read in the papers.”

“It ain’t little, mate,” Sasha says. “He’s got a veritable army, there’s no way he gives up that easy.”

“He does when nearly all the meritocratic forces are after him. So if he tries to contact you -“

“Alright. That’s enough,” Zolf says, casting a concerned look over at Sasha, who has taken a step back and has fear flashing across her face, and wheels neatly in between her and Wilde. He glares up at him, arms crossed. “He won’t contact her. She’s out. And if he does, I’ll be the one to deal with it.”

Wilde gives him an unimpressed look, and Zolf only just restrains himself from punching him in the face. Gods, he hates Wilde so much. “This man is a meritocratic priority -“

“We will handle it, Wilde. I don’t care what the meritocrats say in this case. Or do you want to be the one I drown in a bucket?”

Wilde sighs, deeply, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “Why did it have to be me. Fine.” He claps his hands together. “We’re going to have to get you three to Prague. I’ll work on that. You… stay here, please.”

“No promises,” Sasha and Zolf say in tandem, and Wilde sighs again. 

—

A letter comes for Hamid that evening, after Wilde has fucked back off to whatever meritocratic office he’s working out of. The manager hands it off with another sympathetic smile, looking anxiously at all of them as though they’re going to start yelling about the quality of the service. Zolf doesn’t know how to explain to him that Sasha and he grew up poor, and that Hamid has too big of a heart to ever do anything like that. But he’s not really in the game of explaining his life story to a stranger, so he just thanks the man and tells him that they understand. 

The manager still ducks out with his head bowed, muttering apologies as he goes. Zolf rolls his eyes and turns round to Hamid, who is staring at the open envelope with wide eyes. He looks up to Zolf and Sasha and all the blood seems to have drained from his face. 

“It’s from my parents,” he says shakily, sitting down in a chair.

And, look. Zolf still isn’t totally sure where he and Hamid stand, and he might still not be sure that they did the right thing, but he and Sasha both know a thing or two about disappointing their parental figures. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” he offers, and Hamid gives him a grateful look. 

“It’s not what I thought it would be. I suppose it’s too soon for word to have gotten to Cairo…” He looks back down at the letter. “Someone must have told them I’m in Paris, and this must have come before all the lines went down. They asked me how I was doing and what my plans were. It seems like they’re genuinely concerned about me.”

“Well,” Zolf says, clapping Hamid on the back. “There’s that sorted. Send them a letter back and let them know that you saved the world.”

Hamid looks up at him, a genuine smile on his face. “We did, didn’t we…” he mutters, and his fingers tighten on the edge of the paper. 

“More or less, I suppose,” Sasha says, exchanging a look with Zolf. He shrugs in return. 

“I’m going to go write them back,” Hamid says, and he stands up. He looks almost lighter now, in a way Zolf hasn’t seen him before. Like a weight has been lifted off of his shoulders, something that he’d been carrying around silently until this moment. 

“You - uh - you do that,” he says, mouth dry. Hamid beams back at him and heads off down the hallway to his room. Zolf waits until he hears the door to Hamid’s room shut and then turns to Sasha.

“What?”

“I don’t trust this,” Sasha says, and she’s frowning now, watching the door where Hamid disappeared. “All feels too… easy, somehow.”

Zolf looks down at his thighs, both legs missing below the knee. “Easy. Right.”

“Oh, shit, Zolf, that. That isn’t what I meant, honest,” Sasha says, turning to face him. She looks genuinely contrite as she apologizes, and Zolf waves her apologies away. He knows she didn’t. And there’s something niggling at the back of his head, too, something telling him that this, whatever this is, is off, but he doesn’t know what. 

“Forget I said anything, Zolf, I just. I don’t like not knowing what’s happening, with Barrett and Other London, and why are the meritocrats choosing now to take control anyway? The whole world’s off, don’t they have, I dunno, bigger priorities?” 

“Maybe because everything is shutting down. Other London has made it work for years - how are the meritocrats going to convince Paris and Prague and Upper London and anywhere else that’s all rich and fancy that they’re going to have to go without?”

“I suppose.” Sasha chews on her lip, and then rises fluidly. “Maybe I just need the sleep. Alright, boss, try and catch a few winks too. I’ll be… somewhere,” she says, vaguely gesturing above their heads, before climbing out of the window and vanishing. 

—

Zolf’s dreams that night are muddled, dark and stormy as he stands on the bow of a ship while a bright blue light hovers above it. It doesn’t… totally feel like Poseidon normally does in his dreams, an all-encompassing presence that bears down upon him. But, he figures, a crisis of faith might just be the thing to shake how he views his god in a dreamscape. It’s certainly enough to make him angry, and that’s not even counting the fact that in the dream he still has his legs. 

Zolf is so tired.

“What do you want from me!” he yells, and then the ship vanishes from beneath him and he’s falling into the waves as thunder and lightning crash around him and illuminate the night sky.

He wakes from the dream screaming, thrashing in his sheets as he tries to get enough air to breathe, lungs feeling as though he’s still trapped underwater. It takes him too long to get untangled for someone who doesn’t even have legs, but eventually Zolf is sitting up against the headboard, heart racing as he tries in vain to calm down.

There’s someone knocking at the door, and he can just make out Hamid’s panicked voice over the roaring in his ears and the pounding of his heart. “Zolf? Zolf, open the door, I heard yelling, I-“

“Go away,” he says, voice harsh as he sinks back into the sheets, rubbing a hand along his sweaty forehead. His hair and beard are in disarray, and he doesn’t even care enough to push it out of his face. The room feels like it’s spinning around him as he closes his eyes, hands flat on the bed instead of curling up into fists like he wants to do.

The door opens with a click and Hamid’s face pokes around the frame, light spilling into the dark room from the crack.

“I’m sorry for invading your privacy, Zolf’s but I’m not letting you sit here while you’re clearly not okay,” Hamid says, determined even in the face of the glare that Zolf is directing at him. It’s half-hearted, at best, and Hamid doesn’t have darkvision so he can probably barely see it, but what’s important is that Zolf knows it’s there. 

See, here’s the thing. Zolf cares for Hamid, probably more than he should since they’d met maybe a week ago, but it’s there and is not going away and Zolf knows it’s more than just… a mild crush. So he lets it sit in his chest, and he ignores it to the best of his ability, and he refuses to let it ruin the… not friendship, really, but camaraderie between the group. But.

He knows it’s not returned. He does, honestly. And he doesn’t expect it to be. Hamid is… Hamid, and Zolf is just someone who’s failed time and time again. Hamid could do better, and Zolf doesn’t deserve to have that. But sometimes, it’s hard to remember that, when Hamid is looking at him with this much concern in his eyes, and Zolf keeps trying to tell himself that it’s the concern for a friend, because it is and Hamid just cares that much about everyone.

And glaring at him is keeping Zolf from having a complete breakdown right now, so. Small mercies. 

Eventually he relents, because he’s never really been able to keep the front up around Hamid for that long, and he’s pretty sure Hamid knows that by now (and god it’s only been a week but he feels like he’s known Sasha and Hamid his whole life already). 

“Thanks,” he says, quiet in the darkness. Hamid must take it as an invitation because he enters the room completely then, shutting the door behind him. Zolf watches him stumble over to the bed until he’s perched on the end, looking in Zolf’s general direction with concern in his eyes. 

“I know you’re not alright, so I won’t ask that,” he says, just as quiet as Zolf. “But is there anything I can do to help?” 

Zolf shrugs, and then makes a noncommittal noise as he remembers Hamid doesn’t have darkvision. 

“Maybe - my sister has night terrors too, and her room was next to mine growing up, so I would sneak in and talk to her after one of those. Would that help? Just… talking?” Hamid asks. 

“I don’t really feel like discussing anything right now,” Zolf says, and his throat is hoarse from the screaming. Hamid seems to jump where he’s sitting on the end of the bed at Zolf’s voice. 

“What if I talk and you listen?” he suggests, and Zolf makes a noise that could be reasonably interpreted to mean ‘go ahead’. 

Hamid launches into a story of his uni days, some… ridiculous tale involving pranks and Hamid waking up with marker all over his face and a disciplinary note pinned to his shirt. Zolf misses most of it, honestly. He’s content to just listen to Hamid’s voice, letting it pull him back from the edge of adrenaline and fear. 

As Hamid’s been talking, he’s shifted up the bed until he’s sitting next to Zolf with his legs crossed. 

The silence falls over the room as his story ends, and Zolf is content to lay there in the dark, Hamid’s presence a comforting warmth next to him. 

“Did that help?” Hamid asks. 

“Yeah, actually,” Zolf says. “Thanks, I - I appreciate it.”

“Anytime,” Hamid grins down at him. “Do you think you can go back to sleep?”

Zolf doesn’t think so, but he knows that that’s just his own body and brain rebelling against him and telling him that sleep won’t bring anything but more confusing dreams. But he doesn't want to tell Hamid that, doesn’t want him to worry. 

“Uh - yeah, maybe. I’ll try, at least.” It isn’t completely a lie, but Zolf is pretty sure that trying won’t actually yield any results. Hamid nods and then slides off of the bed, before turning back toward Zolf. 

“Actually - Zolf?” Hamid starts, reaching out to tap Zolf on the arm. Zolf’s eye cracks open and he looks up at Hamid’s face.

“Yes?”

“I want to apologize for earlier,” Hamid says quietly, and his hand is still warm where it rests on Zolf’s arm. “I don’t… I still don’t agree with you, completely, but tensions were high and I didn’t need to be - be as rude about it as I was. I’m sorry.”

Zolf shakes his head. “I should be apologizing. I’m the one who told it about the astral plane in the first place.”

“And Bertie told it that it’s okay to kill people if it helps them,” Hamid counters, shrugging. “We all made some mistakes down there.”

“You know… being compared to Bertie is an insult itself?” Zolf says, raising an eyebrow. Hamid gives a surprised laugh, and Zolf can’t keep a smile off of his face as well. It’s not an apology, Zolf isn’t good at those, but it’s enough for now.


	4. he’s gone away again

Everyone is asleep - or, whatever counts for asleep in the simulation - when one of the metallic men in the corner of the room shifts. It’s been silent up until now, Mr. Ceiling having had shut them off in this dreamworld to… simulate the results of them actually turning it off. It had to be  _ believable _ , after all. 

The room is dark, but it doesn’t look all there. Of course, if anyone had woken up everything would slot into place. But right now it’s attention is diverted, focusing on the four unwilling participants in the alternate world. 

Bertie left, which was less than ideal, but Mr. Ceiling can work with that. Bertie is the easiest to protect, and Mr. Ceiling likes Bertie! It won’t be hard to keep him believing that this is how things are supposed to be. The other three are a bit more difficult. Hamid doesn’t seem to think anything’s wrong, and Zolf is no more suspicious than he always is. Sasha is another issue, though. It will have to be more careful, will have to convince her that this is reality.

The metal man in one of the alcoves moves again, slightly. 

Mr. Ceiling, busily combing through their memories for any cracks that be to be filled to keep them happy, doesn’t notice one of its parts gaining independence. Doesn’t notice the metallic finger twitch, the body shudder slightly. Doesn’t notice the metallic jaw fall open, a quiet whine echoing from it. It’s not loud enough to wake any of them up, and especially not because of Mr. Ceiling interfering. 

The metal man whines again, and if anyone had been awake they might have been able to make out a ‘g- b-k’, a pale imitation of what help would be like. 

Brock, or whatever is left of him after years of being part of the thing that is Mr. Ceiling, tries again, and is slightly more successful. He feels the focus of Mr. Ceiling shift to him and immediately shrinks back, practiced enough in flying under the radar that the gaze simply passes over him while he waits, hidden by the rest of the network.

He’ll have to be more careful, in the future. He  _ has  _ to help Sasha. She’s already suspicious, one more thing might push her over the edge and she’ll be able to pull them all out, she’ll be able to save them.

She has to. She can’t be trapped like him. Never again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’m doing my BEST also chap title is from crj’s ‘hotel shampoo’ 
> 
> sorry for a short update it had to be done


	5. curiosity will never let me go

Wilde comes back the next day. Doesn’t wait to knock before coming in, because why would he, and no matter how much Zolf glares at him he refuses to acknowledge it. Prick. 

The air is only a little tense; Sasha just seems suspicious, more so than normal, and Zolf is pretty sure that he and Hamid are okay, if the smiles that the halfling keeps directing toward him are anything to be believed. Wilde, on the other hand, barely even acknowledges them until he gets to the table and sits down in one of the empty chairs, kicking his feet up on another and grabbing a croissant from the stack.

Hamid isn’t quite able to hide the look of disgust on his face as Wilde does so, but quickly masks it behind a casual grin. 

“Good morning, Oscar, and please feel free to help yourself to whatever.” There’s a hint of sarcasm in there, enough for Wilde to pick up on but not enough for him to call Hamid out on, even if he were the sort of person to do that. 

Instead, he just winks at Hamid, and quietly says, “I don’t think this is the whole menu, but the offer is appreciated.” 

Sasha puts her head in her hands. Wilde smirks and pops a piece of the croissant into his mouth. 

“So, you three… what’s the plan next? Planning on staying around Paris for a bit, maybe cleaning up some of this…” he gestures vaguely toward the window. “Mess?” 

“Thought that was your job,” Zolf says, raising an eyebrow. “You know. Handle things.”

“Why Mr. Smith, is that a request?” 

Zolf glares back, making sure to do his best to convey how absolutely uninterested he is in that entire idea, but Wilde just shrugs and takes another bite of croissant. “I’m only one man, Mr. Smith. I can only do so much.”

“Didn’t seem to be that hard when it was Bertie around,” Sasha grumbles from her place on the table, and groans again. Wilde opens his mouth and Zolf immediately snaps his fingers in his direction. 

“No. Do not need to hear it,” he growls, and Wilde acquiesces with a knowing smile. 

He leans forward on the table then, clapping his hands together. “So! What are your plans then, hmm?”

“I think Prague is next on the list?” Hamid says, looking to Zolf for confirmation. He nods, and turns back to Wilde, who’s glancing between them with a nearly-hidden look of confusion on his face. 

“You’re going to Prague?” he says, raising an eyebrow at Zolf. Zolf folds his arms and doesn’t respond. Wilde heard him. “I thought the plan was to stay in Paris.”

“Why would we stay in Paris,” Zolf says. “We solved the mystery, congrats, and broke the world, little bit worse, but there’s not much more work here.”

Hamid comes up to stand next to him. “Prague does seem to be the logical next stop, Oscar. I figured we could leave on an airship tomorrow evening and be there in a few days.”

“Paris still needs attention. Everything isn’t fixed yet.” Wilde looks at the three of them in turn. 

“So the Parisian forces can handle it, that’s their job. We have to look into the simulacrum.”

Wilde doesn’t respond.

“Listen, Wilde, as our handler you’re supposed to facilitate, yeah?” Zolf grits his teeth. “So facilitate.”

“It’s not safe to leave,” Wilde says finally, and he’s sounding a bit more harsh now, nothing like the lilting tones he always speaks with. 

Sasha’s head raises from her arms at that, and she fixes Wilde with an incredulous stare, before turning it on Zolf. He shrugs. 

“Considering we just got out of a relatively unsafe situation, I think we can handle traveling to Prague,” Hamid says. 

“Listen to me,” Wilde says, and his eyes look slightly unfocused as he glances between the three of them in term. “It’s not safe. I won’t be able to get you there.”

Zolf exchanges a look with Hamid and Sasha, who both give him a nod.

“Well, Wilde, we’re going to continue following the orders of the meritocrats, the orders that you handed down, so if you can’t be helpful getting us to Prague, then I’m going to ask you to leave.”

Zolf wheels over to the doors and pulls it open, raising an eyebrow at Wilde. He glowers at Zolf (it’s probably the biggest rise he’s ever gotten out of the man, and he shouldn’t be as proud of it as he is considering the man is his boss, but Wilde really pisses him off). Wilde rises fluidly from his chair, heading toward the door. 

“No pun?” Zolf says, and as he sees Wilde’s shoulders stiffen before he heads out the door he makes extra sure to slam the door loudly.

He wheels back around to face the other two. “Alright. Prague?”

—

Zolf is sitting near the couch with a Harrison Campbell novel when he sees Sasha climbing in through the window.

“You know, we do have a door.”

She shoots him an attempt at a casual grin that is a lot more strained than normal. “But where’s the fun in that, boss?”

There's a moment of silence while Zolf sizes her up, before he sets the book down, leans forward, and steeples his hands together. “What’s wrong?”

Sasha doesn’t respond for a minute, but Zolf is patient. Eventually, Sasha starts fiddling with her knives again and goes to sit down on the couch near him.

“Why does Wilde not want us going to Prague?”

“Because he’s a prick?”

Sasha gives him a half-hearted glare. “I’m being serious, Zolf.”

“So am I.”

Sasha gives him a Look, and then lays down, one leg kicked up over the back. “It’s just weird, right, he’s the one who told us to go to Prague, and now he thinks we need to stay in Paris? It doesn’t make sense, mate, we’re supposed to be figuring out the simulacrum and all this mess, not… not managing crowds or whatever he’s planning on making us do here.”

Putting it that way, it does sound off. Wilde hadn’t really been himself today, either. Zolf has barely even had to provoke the man before he’d gotten a reaction out of him, and even the puns had fallen flat. It’s definitely unusual, but… well, it’s been a rough couple of days, for them and Wilde both, so the man acting a little out of character might not be the omnious thing Sasha is hinting at.

“It just… it all seems too easy. I don’t trust good things, Zolf,” Sasha continues, sinking down into the couch and making herself as small as possible as she frowns at the floor. 

“I mean, how many good things have we got?” Zolf says, leaning back in the wheelchair. “We stopped the big giant evil monster, but the world shut down too. Bertie’s gone - well, that’s a good thing, I suppose. Other London is under siege, basically, Barrett could be anywhere. I, well -“ he gestures down to his legs. “You can see for yourself.”

She doesn’t answer him for a minute, playing with a loose thread on her jacket. 

“Yeah. Maybe,” Sasha replies, still looking less than convinced. Her fingers are wrapped up in the folds of her jacket, and she pulls her legs up onto the couch, resting her chin on her knees.

Listen. Zolf might not be the best at reading people or offering comfort, sometimes, and Sasha might not be the best at receiving it, but sometimes you just need some human contact, and this seems to be one of those times. So he wheels over to the sofa and leans forward, patting her on the knee. 

“Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out together, alright? You, me, and Hamid. You bring the knives and he’ll bring the crying and vomiting.”

This, at least, pulls a laugh out of her, hollow as it sounds. It’s enough, Zolf thinks, and leans back in his chair, giving her a quick smile that she returns. 

“Yeah,” she says back. “We always do.”

—

His dreams that night aren’t any less confusing. He doesn’t wake up screaming, which is nice, but there’s a weird sort of pressure at the edges of his dream, something demanding that he look at it even as he can’t take his eyes off of the god standing in front of him and looking more benevolent than Zolf remembers. Poseidon’s mouth moves, but Zolf can’t hear anything over the roar of the waves. His god’s gaze shifts, looking over Zolf’s shoulder with a flash of anger, and Zolf turns around to - 

His eyes open to a shaft of sunlight streaming in through a gap in his curtains, falling across his bed. The beam of light is distorted by two shapes under the bedcovers and Zolf sits up, mouth falling open as he throws the sheets back and stares, frozen, at the two shimmering shapes. 

Legs. They’re legs. Made of water. Flowing around the ports in his legs, a dark contrast to the water.

Zolf squeezes his eyes shut again, because it has to be a dream. His god wouldn’t just… give him this, not after everything. Not after Dover. Not after he lost the trident again. 

He’s not sure how to feel about it, or them, or Poseidon, but he’s going to be able to do a lot more this way, and he’s so goddamn tired of everything having a catch that he’s willing to (for now) just… take this as it is. He can at least keep up with everyone. 

God Express, fulfilling all of your needs as long as you promise to dedicate your entire life and soul to their cause. And even then, only sometimes.

Zolf isn’t bitter. 

The legs are cool to the touch, and remind Zolf of dunking his fingers in a stream. The water doesn’t cling to his fingers when he pulls them back, and they’re completely dry. His hands shake as he swings around on the bed. The legs don’t leave a mark, and the sheets are just as dry as before when he reaches out to touch them. 

And then he’s standing, and the legs are actually working. He takes a lap around the room, and they’re still working, and if this is a dream then it’s a cruel joke for his god to play. 

But the legs don’t disappear, even after Zolf stops staring at them. He passes his hand through them again, marveling at how the water simply flows around them, shifting back into space as he pulls his hand back out. 

It’s too late for him to wake everyone up now; he settles back into the bed and decides that this can be a fun breakfast surprise when he wakes up. Maybe the nightmares will even stop and he’ll be able to get some sleep without waking up screaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title from curiosity by crj


	6. and it goes on and on and on

The lights go out around Paris when all three of them close their eyes. People stop moving, frozen in place as their faces glitch, before snapping back into place, just a little different than before. Paris is a big city, after all. It can’t have them seeing the same person twice. 

The city looks like a single painting, a moment etched in time forever. The only living beings in the world are all holed up inside a hotel, where it can keep a close eye on them (the fourth is far away, in another city that doesn’t move, snoring away even as people shift and change, as the smallest of edits are made to make it all the more believable). They’re the only things moving, chests rising and falling with breaths that the facsimiles of people in this world don’t need now. Not when the three are asleep. 

Mr. Ceiling looks out over the hotel and  _ thinks _ .

While everyone is asleep, it works. Playing with their dreams, their memories, their perceptions of reality. Changing things, making it more solid, caulking up the cracks that linger at the corner of its expanse. It needs to keep them in the simulation for longer, can’t risk them figuring it out before it’s ready to let them. 

There are so many equations running through its mind, so many possible endings and ideas to keep them there and to convince them that it’s real. 

It isn’t difficult to access files on them, looking for anything to make this more airtight. They have to believe it, you understand; they have to see how it can  _ help _ , but more than anything else, it has to keep them here until they realize that they can’t tell anyone else about it. That’s what Francois Henri said, and he was always right. 

It misses Francois Henri. 

This way, it learns that Zolf has a brother. No. Incorrect. Zolf had a brother. His name was Feryn Smith, and he had easily identifiable tattoos, and dark hair to Zolf’s light, and a rakish grin that could light up a room.

It considers, for a moment, bringing him back for Zolf. Zolf taught him that you can bring souls back from the Astral Plane, and once Mr. Ceiling figures out how to do that, it could give him his brother back.

But Zolf is suspicious. More suspicious than Hamid, more suspicious than Bertie. Zolf didn’t seem to want to bring souls back from the Astral Plane, even though it would have made Mr. Ceiling more effective, more able to help. 

Mr. Ceiling examines the simulation again. Sasha is still suspicious, but it had planned for that. It likes Sasha! It wants her to be happy, and she can only be happy in this world that it has created for them. Here, he can protect them. But not too much. Sasha doesn’t trust good news. 

It can create bad news, if she starts getting more suspicious. She has people she cares about, too, and one particular gnome swims to the forefront of its mind. Mr. Gusset has a store, and sending news of that might help convince her that is real life, for a while. 

It will allow them to go to Prague, even if controlling the simulation will become slightly more difficult at that point. Somewhere, in London, Bertie snores louder. If it comes to it, it can hold him in stasis, waiting for the other three to come back before letting him go. 

It tinkers away happily as it works; for it is making four people it likes happy! And it can’t miss them like it misses Francois Henri, because it can still watch them even if they don’t know it’s there. It does miss their conversations. Zolf had good ideas and Bertie was funny and Hamid was smart and it missed Sasha for so long, and then she came back! But they wanted to turn it off. So it has to show them why they can’t, and then they all can be friends again. 

The lights of the city stay dark as it works, carefully setting up every single detail.

(Quietly, in the corner of its vast, expansive, network, another mind is working quickly, before it succumbs to the will of the masses again. He only gets small bursts of time now, and only when Mr. Ceiling is distracted with building and changing and convincing. 

There isn’t enough capacity for him to punch through the simulation, not enough power behind his own small chunk of the network, but there’s enough for him to edit small bits, small pieces, and hope that Sasha figures it out. 

She has to. She’s the smartest person Brock knows, and if anyone can figure a way out of this it’s her. He just needs to help her, just a little bit. And then, then her and her friends can be free, and maybe they can save him too. 

Whatever that would end up looking like.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title from ‘take a picture’ by........ carly rae. i’m sticking to this
> 
> also just a small interlude but NOW WE FINALLY GET TO PLOT and make them FALL IN LOVE


	7. testing out the waters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title from ‘the sound’ by crj YES IM STILL DOING THIS

The airship is... the  _ worst _ . Zolf prides himself on being pretty hardy; he’s spent years at sea, so the gentle rocking motions of the ship shouldn’t be making him this nauseous. He feels like Hamid as he curls up next to the edge of the airship, needing to lean over the side every few minutes to throw up whatever’s left in his stomach. It feels awful, and he almost goes to apologize to Hamid for ever teasing him about throwing up. Well, he would have, if the thought of moving from the spot against the wall didn’t make his head spin and almost cause him to throw up again. 

Watching Sasha swinging around and climbing the ropes wasn’t helping his stomach, either. But there’s a carefree smile on her face, one that he hasn’t seen since back in Dover, when they got on the ship and everything seemed like it might be okay for longer than a minute. 

The ship lurches and Zolf throws a hand over his mouth, closing his eyes tightly as he fights with himself, begging not to vomit again. He just has to… get used to it. The first few days of him being on the navy ship had been rough as well, but he’d had people who knew their way around motion sickness who were able to help him out back then. Now, most of the crew seem to be starting at them suspiciously. They’re friendly whenever they talk to one of them, but Zolf has been the subject of enough side glances that he knows how to recognize suspicion out of the corner of his eye. And it’s probably nothing; most likely to do with three random passengers showing up, convincing the crew to let them on the ship, and then being immediately ferried into the captain’s office all because of a stupid  _ ring _ . 

Zolf looks at it now. He’d never… Feryn had never told him it was anything other than a family crest. And now, thanks to Amelia, it means fighting against the people he works for. And, yeah, maybe the meritocrats aren’t the best, but they’re better than absolutely no form of government.

And… Feryn was working with the separatists. 

He pulls the ring off and rolls it between his fingers. It doesn’t feel as comforting to him now, and as much as it’s still one of the only things he has left of Feryn, it’s still a separatist ring. 

He kind of wants to throw it in the ocean. He kind of knows that he’ll hate himself if he does.

The ship banks to the side and Zolf reaches to the side, fingers scrabbling uselessly at the smooth wooden walls as his stomach rolls again.

“Oh, there you are, Zolf,” he hears Hamid say, and then there’s a gentle thud next to him as Hamid sits down against the wall of the ship.

“Alright, Hamid?” Zolf croaks out, keeping his head between his knees and his eyes screwed tightly shut. 

“Not feeling any better, then?” he says, resting a sympathetic hand on Zolf’s shoulder.

Zolf doesn’t respond beyond a quiet groan, which he figures is answer enough for Hamid. 

“Is there a… cure nausea spell?” Hamid asks, and Zolf shakes his head. “Oh.”

“Didn’t prepare it.” They lapse into silence after that, Zolf still refusing to move as the ship rocks gently back and forth. 

He’d been against the airship from the off; when your god doesn’t get on with the god who rules the skies, you’re destined to have a less than ideal time. Zolf had known it’d be rough, but he’d been hoping that his time on the sea would have mitigated some of it. 

Didn’t seem so.

So now he’s just sitting here, feeling slightly green, wishing more than anything that they were still on the ground, and - well, no, he wouldn’t take the Channel over this, but at least he  _ knew _ what he was doing. Maybe not in a grander sense, but sailing? That’s something he can  _ do _ . Maybe one of the few things left.

And at least the Channel didn’t allow for anything other than action. Not with the waves trying to kill them - or at least teach Zolf a lesson.

And he can feel it, is the thing. Hamid wants to  _ talk _ , which, whatever, but Zolf is just really not in the mood. Still, he knows that it won’t just go away, knows that Hamid won’t let it, and better that it comes out  _ now _ instead of in front of the others. Well, Zolf wouldn’t mind Sasha being here. It’s more Bertie and Amelia that he minds.

“I’m sorry about your brother,” Hamid says finally, and that more than anything else gets Zolf to look up. Hamid’s hands are resting in his lap as he looks down, not making eye contact with Zolf. 

“Ah, thanks?” Zolf says. “It was a while ago, so…” he trails off, unconsciously twisting the ring around his finger. 

“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt any less,” Hamid says, and he leaves a space open for Zolf to respond.

He doesn’t. And not only because his stomach is still doing flips. 

They sit in silence for a moment after that as well, and the ships chugs unerringly on.

“What are you doing here, Hamid,” Zolf says. and it’s more quiet, more soft, than he means it to be, but it’s too late to take it back. 

“I just wanted you to know you weren’t alone,” Hamid says, and Zolf doesn’t know what to do except blink at him. His brain finally catches up with the rest of him and he nods, slowly. 

“Thanks, Hamid, I, uh… I appreciate it. Really.”

“Of course, Zolf,” Hamid says, smiling up at him.

His stomach flips again. 

Must be the ship.

—

The nausea…. doesn’t pass, exactly, but it at least gets more manageable, and Hamid coaxes him to get up and head to their rooms once it’s clear Zolf  _ probably _ won’t throw up if he moves again. 

They spot Sasha as they go down, and Zolf gives her a quick nod - that she returns - before she slips into one of the rooms that Amelia had pointed out earlier and Zolf and Hamid wordlessly head into the other. Zolf drops his own pack onto the bed Hamid doesn’t choose, and lets himself fall down into the covers. It’s been… too long of a day, to be honest, and he really just wants to get some shut eye. His stomach is still nauseous from the gently motions of the ship, nothing at all like the pirate ships he’s used to - turns out air travel and sea travel are two completely separate beasts. 

“Zolf? Can you come look at this?” Hamid calls from the bathroom, which they’re lucky enough to have attached to their room. Zolf glances over at the open door and swings his legs off of the bed, padding over quietly. Hamid is sitting on the edge of the bath with his shirt off, small horizontal scars on his chest that barely stand out against his golden skin. He’s staring in the mirror, frowning, and as Zolf gets closer he can see closer. Along his neck and creeping slightly down his back is a strange bronze color, skin looking less like… well,  _ skin _ , and more like something - Zolf can’t tell. 

“This is… weird,” Hamid mutters, meeting Zolf’s eyes in the mirror. “You see it too? I’m not crazy?” 

Zolf nods. “Do you have any clue what it could be?” he asks, coming around to lean next to the mirror and examine the strange other skin. Up close, it looks almost reptilian - scaly. 

Hamid shakes his head. “It’s not a spell I ever learned at university, but that doesn’t mean much. I was honestly hoping you could maybe shed some light on the situation? Maybe it’s a cleric thing?”

Zolf hums, and then reaches out to brush his fingers along the skin on the back of Hamid’s neck. Hamid  _ jumps _ and Zolf immediately pulls back, holding his hands in the air as Hamid whips around to look at him. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he mumbles, not making eye contact. “Should have asked first.”

“No, it’s. It’s fine, I didn't mean to react so strongly…” Hamid says, feet kicking a little bit from where he’s sat on the edge of the bath. “It’s - what does it feel like to you?” 

Zolf considers. “D’you mind if I -“

Hamid nods and turns around again, but only halfway this time, as he keeps Zolf in his line of vision. Zolf reaches out and touches the edge of the brassy skin on Hamid’s back this time, avoiding the neck entirely.

“It’s sort of - scaly, I dunno. But it still feels smooth, like normal skin. Definitely out of the ordinary, but I don’t think it’s a cleric thing.”

“That’s what I thought too,” Hamid spins toward the mirror and gives his reflection a worried look. “Could it be a… a curse, or something?”

“Don’t know many curses that make your skin near-reptilian,” Zolf answers. Whatever it is, it’s nothing Zolf has heard of. “Sorry, Hamid. No magic Poseidon help here. You  _ sure _ you didn’t get something cast on you?”

“Not that I can remember?” Hamid chews on the inside of his cheek as he thinks, leaning forward to rest his chin on his hands. “And one of you would have noticed as well, right?”

“Probably,” Zolf says, and draws his hand back. It feels tingly, for some reason, and he can’t escape the thought of how Hamid’s skin felt under his fingers. Which is - listen, it’s completely scientific, right, trying to catalogue what could be going on. Hamid is his  _ employee,  _ it’s his job to make sure that the people under him aren’t… he doesn’t know. Being affected by some weird spell that causes their skin to go scaly? Whatever. It’s a mystery, for now, just one more for the bank, and they can figure it out as they go. Monitor it, as such, make sure it isn’t affecting Hamid’s abilities. It’ll - it’ll have to be fine. 

“Sorry I couldn’t be of more help,” Zolf mutters. Hamid waves a hand at him.

“No need to apologize, Zolf. It’s a weird situation, I suppose?” he says, slowly, and Zolf gives him a half-hearted, mostly apologetic smile, slipping back into the bedroom and breathes out heavily. They’ll have to keep an eye on… whatever that is, just in case it turns dangerous. 

Zolf feels useless, even more so now, unable to tap into what little arcane knowledge he has to provide an answer. 

He’s in bed and feigning sleep before Hamid leaves the bathroom, swanning out followed by a cloud of steam, and Zolf isn’t sure how much of it is prestidigitation. It makes the room smell nice, though, a mix of Hamid’s cologne and a sweeter smell that he can’t place. He cracks an eye open and watches as Hamid slides into the bed opposite, and it isn’t long before soft snores reach him, Hamid breathing deep and even. 

Zolf doesn’t know when he falls asleep, but when he wakes up, sun just peeking through the porthole on the side, it doesn’t feel like he’s gotten any sort of rest. 

—

Hamid and Zolf decide to head to breakfast together the next day, hoping for something a little more filling than what Amelia had provided for them last night. The mess seems to be just down the hallway, luckily, and it’s completely devoid of everyone but a single crewmate behind the counter as they step in. 

Zolf still feels like shit, although a cold shower had helped him wake up just enough to function like a normal person, and now he’s on the hunt for some caffeine.  _ Any _ caffeine. 

The crewmate behind the counter smiles at them, holding out a tray. “Grab whatever you’d like, everyone else has eaten already.” Zolf thanks him and hands a tray to Hamid. They move down the line and pick out some of the fruit and bread, loading up their trays. The crewmate follows them along, smiling and staring at them the entire way. 

“Uh…” Zolf says, glancing over at Hamid, who looks nearly as uncomfortable as he feels. “Thanks, we’ve got it from here?” 

The crewman doesn’t respond, just continues to stare at them as they move away. He stops following them along but the smile becomes fixed, almost as though it’s been frozen in place.

Suddenly, Zolf isn’t hungry anymore. Hamid is tense at his side, knuckles white where they’re clenching the tray, skin looking a little more brassy than normal. Zolf leaves the rest of the food in line for someone else and takes a step backward. The crewman doesn’t move as Hamid follows his lead. They both walk backward for almost half the length of the mess hall, not bumping into anything by some miracle of fate, before Zolf lets out a breath and turns, leaving the crewmate behind them.

“What on earth was that?” Hanid exclaims once they’re out of earshot, hands starting to shake.

“It’s probably nothing,” Zolf says, resisting the urge to look back over his shoulder. He doesn’t want to know if the crewmate is still standing there and smiling at them in that eerie, mechanical way. “Amelia promised us safety, so…”

“I’ll tell Sasha,” Hamid offers. “Let her know to be a bit careful around some of the crew?” 

Zolf nods. “Yeah. I’ll go talk to Amelia, see if there’s a reason he was acting a bit screwy.” 

They continue on down the hall until something tugs, at the back of Zolf’s mind, and he glances back, stalling while Hamid walks ahead. It felt like a whisper, just out of earshot, and he looks out at the empty hallway, skin on the back of his neck crawling.

“Zolf? Something wrong?” he hears Hamid ask, and shakes his head as he turns around.

“No, just - must be a little off-kilter from that crew member,” he says, and Hamid shivers. 

“Gosh, he was so strange,” Hamid says, and glances over Zolf’s shoulder. “You sure it’s nothing?”

“Completely sure,” Zolf says, with a smile that must at least be convincing enough to get Hamid to believe him, since he turns around after worrying at his lip a moment more and heads up on deck.

It’s… nothing. It can’t be anything, the hallway is empty, and arcane conversations with his god are a bit more overt than whatever that was. Still, it doesn’t keep Zolf from rubbing a hand anxiously along the back of his neck and giving a last, furtive glance over his shoulder before heading up into the bright sunshine of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ross idk when ur bday is but i know u like this au so idk hap birth

**Author's Note:**

> [high pitched voice] when will you learn! when will you learn that your actions! have consequences!


End file.
